Same Time, Same Place
by ringanybells
Summary: Everyone knows that Neal Caffrey is no fan of guns, very few people know why. Peter does though. He'll protect Neal's secret, but he won't let the kid go back to jail for his principles, or his fears.


It was a dangerous mission and Neal was playing a dangerous role. The character was no stranger to guns; it only made sense that he should carry one. But as the five of them sat in the conference room, there didn't seem to be any movement being made in the right direction. Hughes was insistent, Cruz and Jones were hesitant, Peter was silent, and Neal was having none of it.

"Look, it's this simple. I'm not carrying a gun." The anger in Neal's voice was a new experience for most; he so rarely let his emotions get the better of him. Peter was the only one who had seen behind the suave Caffrey front before.

Hughes had had enough. He stood up, a finger pointing at Neal, "You'll carry the damn gun, or the only accessory you'll have for the next four years is an orange jumpsuit." He couldn't believe he was having to talk the conman into carrying, he had been sure that this would be the easy part of the assignment. Tell the kid he might end up in a body bag, he didn't blink, tell him he got to have a weapon, he was ready to give up on the whole deal.

Neal stood, done with this conversation. "Fine, size 7 please." Neal turned and walked out of the conference room. Lucky for him, he knew his way around the office, because he couldn't see past the memories flashing through his mind.

The four FBI agents watched Neal's retreating figure. None of them had seen the man act quite like that before. Peter, however, merely shook his head. He'd known this was coming, had warned Hughes that Neal would not be cooperative. The senior agent turned to Peter, "For once, jail is not an option for him. Talk some sense into _your partner_. He's going through with this operation; we've put too much effort into it already." Hughes walked out of the room, calling back over his shoulder, "And he's taking the gun."

Peter simply sighed. Before he could say anything, Cruz spoke up, "Should I have tech put a trace on Neal?"

Peter shook his head. Neal hadn't left the building, he was fairly certain the young man was sitting in Peter's own office, twirling in his desk chair, trying to escape the images in his own mind. "He hasn't gone far."

It was Jones who voiced the question on both the junior agents' minds. "What is so bad that Caffrey would rather go back to jail than carry a gun?"

Peter didn't answer the question right away. Very few people knew the real reason Neal Caffrey hated guns. When he struck out into the world of white collar crime, the first thing he'd done was erase certain aspects of his past. The fewer people who knew, the fewer who could use it against him. He had never even told Kate. Peter only knew because he had spent years delving into every corner of Neal's past. They had talked about it once, after becoming partners.

_It had been a few weeks into their new arrangement. Peter had arrested Neal twice, both times, he'd had his firearm drawn and pointed at Neal, though never really intending to shoot the criminal. He knew Neal practically inside and out. He never used violence, so Peter had been fairly safe in the assumption that the gun was unnecessary, but it was protocol. The gun had barely registered with Neal on those two occasions. _

_The two of them had been having coffee on June's roof before work one morning. Peter had come early purely to have a few moments to enjoy a cup. He'd taken off his jacket and placed it on the back of his chair, revealing his holster. The two partners had been silent, simply enjoying good coffee and a beautiful view, but Peter had noticed that Neal's gaze was focused more on the weapon in his holster than on the New York sights. When his eyes lingered a moment too long, Peter turned to the younger man, "Something on your mind?"_

_Neal looked abashed at having been caught. "I wasn't planning on lifting it or anything."_

_Peter laughed. He'd had no such fear. "I didn't think you were. Guns aren't your style. They never have been, not after…" He stopped talking. He hadn't meant to allude to Neal's past or to reveal that he knew the truth, not because he was keeping it from Neal, but because he knew how painful the memory must be if Neal went through so much trouble to erase it._

_For a moment, there was anger in Neal's eyes. He'd never told anyone about what had happened, and he'd always assumed that no one, especially the FBI, knew about it. For the first time, he felt something other than respect for the FBI agent staring at him. "After what, Peter?"_

_To his credit, Peter looked ashamed, but he wasn't going to lie. "After what happened when you were 12."_

_Neal's eyes closed involuntarily. Peter's words brought back images of that night; of the blood, the pain, of slowly losing the most important person in his young and not yet jaded life. "How do you know about that?"_

"_I spent years chasing you, Neal. I looked into everything you ever did, any deal that had your name anywhere near it. It was well hidden. Took me the better part of a year to figure out what the truth was." He hoped the trouble it had taken would balance what he knew was an invasion of privacy. "It's one of the reason's I agreed to all this, because I know you so well."_

_Neal looked over at his partner, "Just because you read some file, doesn't mean you know me." The words sounded harsher than Neal meant them. But the events of that night were private; he'd never wanted to share them with anyone. Hell, he'd wished more than once that his own memory of that night could be taken._

"_I didn't read them in a file; they're not in any file. It was a lead I followed after I'd been in charge of your case for about 18 months. I was doing most of the digging myself, so that I could get inside your head. I only discovered the truth about what happened a couple weeks before I caught you. The thrill of the catch drove the information right out of my head, never made it into any of my reports. By the time I realized it, it didn't seem to matter much whether I added it or not, so I just left it out."_

_Neal was stunned, "So no one knows?"_

"_No one but you and me, and whoever you told." Peter answered honestly._

_Neal was staring off into space, trying to understand what Peter keeping the information to himself could mean, "I never told anyone."_

_It was Peter's turn to be stunned, sure Neal was a conman who played everything close to chest, but he'd always assumed he was open with one person. "Not even Kate?"_

_Neal's voice was cold when he replied, "Not even Kate." His aversion to guns had always been a sore point with Kate. She wanted him to carry, to ensure things ran smoothly, as insurance. Neal refused. It wasn't that he didn't know how to shoot, when he'd gotten into the world of crime, he'd forced himself to overcome his dislike of guns long enough to become a more than decent shot. He knew that guns were a reality of what he did, but that didn't mean he had to carry one._

"_Why not?" Peter had once thought he knew Neal pretty well, but since being partnered with him, he was learning that there was a lot more to the kid then met the eye. _

"_Because it's private," Kate had never been the sentimental type. He had known from the beginning she would never understand what his loss truly meant to him. And rather than have her try to trivialize it, he'd just kept it to himself, and let his choice not to carry be one of the things they fought over. It was easier that way. He wouldn't risk tarnishing Bridget's memory that way._

_There was an edge to Neal's voice that Peter had never heard before. He immediately felt bad for prying. Neal's life was basically an open book to anyone he worked with, he should be allowed to keep some things to himself. "Sorry, I didn't mean to pry." He stood, ready to forget the conversation had ever even happened. But Neal's voice stopped him from moving._

"_I didn't mean it like that, Peter, it's just…" Neal tried to find the words to explain to his partner. "It's been over twenty years since I…" He could feel the tears welling in his own eyes. It had been 21 years and 5 months since the night his sister died, twenty one years since he'd been released from the hospital, finally having recovered from his own bullet wound. He hadn't been at her funeral because he'd been in a coma from the bullet that had ruptured his small intestine, passed through a kidney, and lodged in his rib. But he had watched her bleed out after stepping in front of the bullet that had been meant for him. He'd held her hand as blood had spilled out of her, coating his chest where he clung to her. He'd begged her to hold on, even as she had used her last breaths to warn him, to try and make him run. But he hadn't been able to leave her. "It's not something I like to think about a lot."_

"_I didn't mean to bring it up." Peter knew the look in Neal's eyes. He was reliving whatever had happened that night. Peter reclaimed his seat. "I know it's none of my business, but sometimes, it helps to talk."_

_Neal looked over toward the older man. Here was a man who had arrested him twice, taken his freedom twice. Yet, he was also the man who had taken him at his word and let him out. Peter had put a lot on the line trusting him to do the right thing. And Neal had never respected or trusted anyone as he did the FBI agent who had caught him. He'd known the truth all this time, and never told anyone, what could talking about it change, except maybe help him ease the burden? "It was a few years after the accident that killed my parents." Both his mother and father had been lost in a car accident to a drunk driver when Neal was eight. He and his older sister had been sent to live with their mother's brother, whom she'd had little contact with over the years, but who had been their next of kin. "Steve was a nasty drunk. Whenever he hit the bottle, Bridge would sneak across the hall and sit with me. She would tell me that in a few years, she'd be eighteen and we wouldn't have to stay in that house a day past her birthday."_

"_She was only a few years older than you." Peter knew about Neal's past. Though there was little in the file about him before he turned eighteen and hit the white collar scene, there was information about Neal's parents and the two homes he had lived in following their deaths. Of course, there was nothing about his sister in the files; Neal had gone to great trouble to keep her hidden._

_Neal couldn't help the smile as he thought about his sister. "Yeah, but she took it upon herself to take care of me. If Steve was looking for someone to pick on, she made sure he found her first. I didn't know about that till later, though, until that night. She thought I was asleep, so she walked down the hall to where Steve was yelling for me. When he saw her, he said she'd do instead. I heard her cry out when the first hit landed and I flew out of bed. I went crazy, throwing whatever I could find at him. I hit him in the head with a vase. He got so pissed, and he stumbled out of the room. I thought it was over. I helped Bridget up and was trying to get her into my room when I heard the gun cock. She must have heard it, too. We both turned around, and when it went off, I knew it was over for me, except Bridge pushed me away."_

"_She saved your life." Peter had only known that his older sister had been shot and that Neal too had suffered a GSW, he hadn't known much else by way of details. _

"_Yup, and then I held her as she bled out. I was only twelve, I had no idea what to do. I just knew I couldn't leave her alone. If she was going to go, I wanted to go with her. She was the only family I had left. It happened fast, the bullet clipped her inferior vena cava. At least that's what the doctors told me later, said chances of her surviving would have been slim even if she'd had immediate attention. All I know is I held my sister as she bled out from a bullet meant for me. I don't know if Steve realized what he did and was trying to cover his tracks, or if he was too drunk to even realize, but he pulled the trigger again._

"_This time he hit you." Peter tried not to allow his mind to conjure those images. He didn't want to imagine a twelve year old Caffrey bleeding from a bullet inches away from the body of his teenage sister. He didn't want to think what that must have felt like for Neal, to know your only family had just died saving you, but that that sacrifice was in vain. And then to wake up in the hospital days, weeks later, to learn your life had been saved but that you were alone? _

_Neal's eyes focused on Peter. "Yea, did a lot of damage, too. I spent months in the hospital recovering. When they finally let me out, I went to live with a friend of my dad's, she said she and my parents had been close and that she had been named guardian should something happen, but that Steve had fought for custody based on blood. It didn't matter to me. I didn't really want to live without Bridge."_

"_You loved her." He could almost understand the course Neal's life had taken after that. The life of a criminal was transient, you made connections, not friends; you had contacts, not family. His choice in lifestyles was one of the only ways to safeguard against future pain. Somehow, Neal's attachment to Kate seemed all the more understandable; he didn't want to lose another woman he loved._

"_She was my big sister. After my parents were gone, she was the one who took care of me. She taught me my first magic trick, sleight of hand. She also took me to the art museum, every Saturday. It didn't matter what else was going on, she never blew it off. The first painting I stole?"_

"_Monet's _Garden,"_ Peter eyed Neal suspiciously. No one knew for sure what Neal had actually done, beyond the bond forgeries he'd been caught for. He had always suspected the Monet was one of Caffrey's jobs, but had no proof. Peter wasn't entirely sure Neal realized what he was confessing._

"_It was her favorite. She'd sit at the museum and stare at it for hours, while I wondered through the other wings. Sometimes she'd walk with me, but whenever she disappeared, I knew that's where I'd find her. Thirteen years after she died, the museum sold it to a private collector. Up until that point, I'd spent every Saturday that I could sitting in that wing, getting lost in Monet's brush strokes, trying to discern the different types of flowers, attempting to unravel what drew her to it. I never thought to ask. Then, one Saturday, I show up, and in its place was Renoir's _By The Water._ I'd already been in the game for a few years, and I knew that I couldn't lose that last piece of her."_

"_That's why you went after the Monet?" Incredulity leaked into Peter's voice._

_Neal had forgotten he was talking to Peter and not just reminiscing out loud. For a moment, there was fear on his face. But then it disappeared. He'd stolen that painting for Bridget, and he wasn't ashamed of it. If that landed him back in jail, so be it. It was one of very few heists that he'd never had a doubt about during planning or regret about after. "She loved that painting. She knew at age twelve what she wanted to be because of that painting. Every week for years she would spend hours studying that painting. She worked her ass off to get a scholarship to NYU so that she could study art history and still be able to get a job so that she could take care of me. She took a bullet for me seven weeks before her eighteenth birthday. Four years of beatings and abuse and being put down by our uncle for absolutely no reason, she survived because every time he started on her, she would picture that garden. The only thing she cared for more than that painting was me. So, yea, I went after it."_

_Peter was silent. He hadn't meant his words the way Neal had taken them. He'd always believed that Neal had gone after the Monet to bolster his reputation, to make a name for himself, everyone who heard about the theft did. He never would have imagined that the reason behind the grab was so sentimental. "I only meant that I didn't realize the painting meant so much to you. The guys on the force, we all thought you were just trying to make a splash. It's one of the few high profile boosts you're name has been attached to. We always just assumed that you went after it because you could."_

_Neal simply shook his head. "No, it was for Bridge. I take her a Polaroid every year of the painting, I was afraid that I wouldn't be able to if it remained in the private sector. I didn't want to let her down again."_

_Peter once again looked toward his partner, "Every year?"_

"_Every year, same time, same place. But not since you caught me. I don't trust the painting to anyone else, not even Mozzie. I haven't been to see her in almost five years." _

"_Why haven't you gone?" Peter was a little surprised at how open Neal was being, but he had already decided he wouldn't use any of this against the young man. It seemed cruel._

"_She's a little outside my radius, for one thing. And I didn't want to risk losing the painting. I can't go to her empty handed." There was sadness, a regret lingering in his tone. He wanted to go see Bridget more than anything else, even more than finding Kate. But he wouldn't risk the FBI following him to her painting, and he couldn't go see her empty handed. "Besides, I still have seven months till I'm due for a visit."_

"_Seven months?" Peter didn't realize they had a set date._

"_I told you, same time, same place. The day she died, November 6, that's the day I go see her, or it was." _

_Peter nodded his head slowly. He didn't know what to make of it, any of it. His partner had just revealed a major crime to him, gave him the date he'd most likely be able to catch him red handed, and spent the last half an hour reliving the most painful day of his life. It was a lot to absorb. Peter did the only thing he could, he pretended none of it had happened, "Maybe it will be again. But for now, we're gonna be late."_

_Neal looked up at his partner. His words were not callous, but Neal wasn't sure what exactly the agent was thinking. But, rather than argue, he merely nodded, drained the last of his now cold coffee, and grabbed his own jacket. He took Peter's lead, pretending the conversation had never happened._

But here Peter sat, six months later, the conversation he swore to forget running through his head once more. Jones and Cruz were both looking at him, "Boss?"

Peter startled, pulled out of his reverie, "Huh?"

"Do you know what's up with Neal?"

Peter's eyes slid to the door that Neal had disappeared out of several minutes ago. "Yea, he uh, he had a bad experience with a 9mm when he was younger. It turned him off guns." His words were quiet, detached. Even as he said them, he was standing, ready to trace his partners steps, a plan forming in his head.

Neal was exactly where Peter had suspected, in _his _office, sitting behind _his _desk, twirling around in _his_ chair. But for once, Peter said nothing. He watched from the doorway for a few moments as Neal stared off into space, no doubt once again reliving that night from almost 22 years ago. When he spoke, he caught Peter off guard. "I meant it, Peter. No guns."

Peter felt for the kid, but he'd worked hard to keep Neal out of prison, he wasn't about to let the kid sentence himself again over this. "It's not worth going back to jail over."

Neal turned around, Peter could read the pain in his eyes, and his reluctance about going back. But he stood firm, "I don't like guns, Peter, you know that."

Peter nodded, "I do know that. I also know that you have somewhere to be in two weeks."

The color drained from Neal's face. He knew Peter hadn't forgotten the conversation, but he certainly hadn't expected the agent to bring it up. He felt his heart tighten, "You're gonna use that against me?"

Peter shook his head, entering his office and closing his door. He moved to the empty chair across from Neal. "That's not what I meant. I don't want you to end up back in prison, kid. You've worked too hard at this partnership to give up now. I know how you feel about guns, believe me, Neal, I do. But you've handled them before; you don't even have to use it. You just have to have it on you, for the image."

"Having it is too much a temptation to using it." Neal's voice was small. He never wanted to do to someone else what had been done to him, what had been done to his sister. Besides, the thought of even picking one up was enough to tighten his heart, especially with the sixth so close.

"I know. But a few days with a gun is better than four years back in prison."

"Peter, I don't know… there's no other way?" Neal was desperate. He didn't want to go back to prison, but he didn't want to be anywhere near a gun for the next two weeks either.

"Not that I can think of. And that's why I'm gonna offer you this deal." He hoped Neal would at least her him out. Once the deal was on the table, it would be too good to resist.

Neal eyed him wearily, still reluctant to agree to anything. "What's the deal?"

"You do this, carry the gun, do this mission, I'll give you the Sixth." Peter watched his partner carefully.

Neal stopped breathing for a moment. As November had drawn closer and closer, he'd been pondering ways to get to Bridget, he'd even considered asking Peter for the day. But now it was being offered. "What do you mean, give me the day?"

Peter took a breath, this offer could end his career. But he'd seen Neal on the roof that day six and a half months ago, this meant everything to him. And in the time they'd been together, he'd done a lot to earn Peter's trust. "It means, I'll give you four hours the morning of the sixth to go take your Polaroid. Four hours, off the tracker. Then you'll meet me back at my place, and I'll drive you to Bridget."

Neal was floored. "You'll take the tracker off so that I can go take a picture of a painting I stole?"

Peter rolled his eyes. "What the hell is the matter with you?" Neal looked around, realizing what he said. Peter leaned forward and replied, "Yes, that's what I said."

Neal thought about the opportunity. He hadn't been to see Bridget in almost five years. Peter was giving him a chance to go see the one person who had loved him more than anything else. A chance to sit with Bridget and apologize for everything, for not coming all these years, for not being a better man. He would have a chance to thank her for teaching him the skills that lead him to the best thing that had happened to him. He would be able to give her the painting. He could wear a gun for Bridget; after all, she'd taken a bullet for him. "Alright, I'll wear the gun." He thought about it another moment. Peter was putting an awful lot of trust in him by giving him that four hour window. He did some quick mental math; the painting was here in the city. He wouldn't need four hours to get to it; just two, to take the picture and explain a few things to the person holding it. "Peter, I won't need four hours. Give me two hours off the leash, and I'll be back at your place."

Peter fought down the surprise he felt; clearly what he was offering Neal meant more to the younger man than he had previously thought, if he was willing to be so honest about it. "We have a deal?" He stuck his hand out, relieved when Neal met it half way.

"Yeah, Peter, it's a deal." Neal tried to hide the tears that he knew were forming. He had been afraid another year would pass that he would be unable to see his sister, but thanks to his partner, he'd be able to not only see her, but take her flowers. "Thank you, Peter."

Peter nodded his head, internally pleased that he had been able to do this for his partner. He then turned and went to tell Hughes to cancel that orange jumpsuit.

[A/N: For those interested, the painting referenced can be seen here: . and is actually called _The Garden of Monet, The Irises.] _


End file.
